Don't know why I never posted this on here

This is my rendition of a little story that came in one of my devotionals. It's my own wording, but the plot/moral is an old folk tale, I think.
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A king took a stroll in his garden one day and noticed that something was amiss. Everything in his garden, from the spreading oak to the climbing trumpet-vines to the proud rose bushes to the sweet willow tree, had faded and fallen and looked to be on the point of death. The king was shocked, and deeply concerned. He dashed to the spreading oak and asked it, "Oh, spreading oak, what ails you, my friend?"

The sad tree looked down at his king and sighed miserably, "Oh king, I can no longer live. I have determined to die for I am not at all like the climbing trumpet-vines in their supple sweetness and many blooms. The children of the court love to run to the trumpet-vine and watch the hummingbirds as they drink. I am nothing like the trumpet-vine, so I wish to be no more."

The king, greatly disturbed by this, turned to the dying trumpet-vine and asked it, "Dear trumpet-vine, what has brought you to this sorry state?"

The withering vine looked up at the king and wailed, "Oh king, I refuse to live. I hate my weak, unprotected stems and my delicate flowers. I wish to be like the proud rose, with its stems of thorns and many rows of petals in its flowers. The children love to run to the rose and smell it, but none dare touch it for the rose's powerful armor! I shall die because I cannot be a rose."

Even more distraught, the king asked the rose why it had brought itself to the point of death. The rose replied, "It is lonely being so proud. I am envious of the willow's long branches and the shade it produces within its curtain of vines. The children run to it and sit beneath it and whisper sweet things to each other, but they will not come near me, and I cannot hear their sweet whisperings. I have decided that the life of a rose is not worth living, and I wish to die."

The king stood, dumbfounded. As he looked around his garden, everything else had likewise decided to bring itself to destruction because it was not some other agent of the garden. Everywhere he looked, envy was murdering his beloved plants. Finally, as he reeled in horror, he noticed a fresh, cheerful face looking up at him. It was a single violet, standing as tall as its diminutive stem would allow it, looking up at the king with a smile on its face.

"Dear little violet, have you not decided like the rest of the garden that you wish to be something you are not?" the king asked, bending over it tenderly.

The little violet smiled sweetly. "No, my king. I have decided that if you, in your great wisdom, had wanted a trumpet-vine or a spreading oak or a rosebush in this spot, you would have planted one. But instead you chose to plant me, a shy little single-stemmed violet. If I am what your heart desires in your garden, why should I wish to be anything else? I shall simply try my very hardest to be the best little violet I can be, to please Your Majesty."

The king smiled down at the little violet and nodded. "That is exactly right, my little violet. And you alone of all of my garden flowers have done as I wished for you to do."